


Do Synths Have Souls?

by shepardly



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 19:57:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9564029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shepardly/pseuds/shepardly
Summary: In which Danse is forced to consider his beliefs on the afterlife, his soul, and the seemingly endless list of problems he's encountered as of late - before he remembers he's not the only one with issues.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I keep telling myself that someday I'm going to write something that does not involved someone getting beat up or knocked out.
> 
> Today is not that day.

Danse remembered the first time he had seen her face. He had recruited the drifter with a gas mask as an initiate into the Brotherhood ranks the first day he met her, but it had been over a week later when a woman with the most stunning face he had ever seen came walking into the Cambridge police station, ruffling her dark locks as she tucked something into her belt.

“Can I help you?” He had stupidly asked, mouth suddenly dry for inexplicable reasons. She had looked up at him, brow furrowed a bit in puzzlement. Black hair pulled back into a thick ponytail and steel grey eyes glinting with intelligence; the purpling bruise on her forehead didn't even detract from her good looks. 

“Um, sure?” He had recognized her then, even if he was hearing her voice clearly for the first time ever. She finished tucking the gas mask into her belt, and dropped her pack off her shoulders. “I found that haptic drive Haylen wanted, and cleared out College Square. Rhys doesn't seem to like me much, would you mind telling him for me?”

“Of- of course, Initiate.” Danse had stammered uncharacteristically, but recovered quickly and went to find Knight Rhys to deliver the report. Too embarrassed to admit he had never learned the Initiate’s name, he had checked her report later to learn that she went by one name: Smith. 

 

He had been so angry when she had refused to kill him after learning he was… one of those _things_. When she refused to let Elder Maxson finish the job, he had been angry for days; had held his sidearm for hours, staring, thinking.

She had won, in the end. He hadn't been killed by anyone, including himself. As time went on, he even became grateful for it. He was still conflicted, still felt revulsion when anyone mentioned synths, but it was getting better. He didn't always hate what he saw in the mirror. 

The hardest part had been being cut off from the Brotherhood, the only family he had really known. She had cut them off too, risked being attacked by them every time she took Danse with her on one of her countryside rambles. She walked away from the Brotherhood and never looked back, never flinched when she pulled the trigger on people who had once been her allies. Danse both hated and envied her for it. Eventually the hate faded as he realized she didn't do it because she wanted to; she did it because she needed to if he wanted to be by her side. Which, he selfishly did. 

He never meant to get attached, had never thought the feeling would be reciprocated. He had been startled when she told him, had asked for time to think, realized he already knew. The night he confessed that she had become more important to him than anything else, she told him her name. 

 

He looked at her face now, drinking it in, trying to memorize it, wishing he could soothe away the frown, see her eyes sparkle again. His eyes drifted shut, but he could still see her face. 

“Danse, talk to me. Stay with me.” Nora ordered in her no-nonsense voice, the one that made him stand up a little straighter even when it wasn't directed at him. He couldn't react in that way this time, but he did pry his eyes open and focused on her, feeling his life ebb away between his fingers. He suddenly realized that he was afraid.

“Do… do you believe in heaven?” He breathed. It was a silly question, pointless speculation, but it seemed important now. She moved his hand from where it covered the bullet hole in his gut, placed a rag over it, pressed down. His vision greyed out, but she coaxed him back, calling his name. He tried not to mind the pain.

“I think I do.” She said quietly. He had to think for a moment, groggily trying to remember what he had asked her. Right. Heaven. “Nate always did. When he died, I told myself that I did too. A small comfort, but I had to take what I could.”

“Do… do you think… synths…” He couldn't finish. It hurt. He squeezed his eyes shut, shifting uncomfortably on the cold ground, felt something leak from his eye and trail to his ear.

“Yes.” She said firmly, seeming to understand anyway. She leaned in close. “But you're not going to find that out first hand today, okay? Just hang on.”

Danse’s stomach lurched, and he was suddenly assaulted by bright light and ringing ears. Nora was yelling something above him, still pressing down on his wound, then there were new hands and unfamiliar faces. He reached out for Nora, felt her grab his hand, and his vision and hearing suddenly came rushing back as he gasped for breath.

White walls, gleaming metal, everything was so _clean_ , including the people around him.

“No- Nora-” He choked out. “What-”

Had he passed out? He didn't think so. Teleportation. This had to be the Institute. He had always wondered if it would seem familiar to him, but it wasn't. He tried to push hands away. 

“It's okay, Danse, they're going to help you.” Nora was saying.

“No-” Danse tried to struggle, flung an arm out, felt it caught in a vice-like grip. “No!”

They would kill him. Wipe his mind, leave a walking talking robot in this skin, but he would be gone. Even if they were to reset him to an earlier version of himself, everything that made him _him_ would be gone. Dead. Months ago, he wouldn't have cared, might have welcomed it. Now, he was terrified.

Something pierced his neck and he felt cold spread through his body. Nora cupped his face in her hands, and he struggled to focus on her even as everything began to go hazy.

“I won't let them hurt you, Danse. It's going to be okay.” She sounded far away. His flung out arm was released, set down on the ground. He tried to move it and felt his fingers twitch, just as he fell into nothing.

 

Flashes of sound, movement. Danse tried to pry his eyes open, failed. He hurt all over. His ears tuned into a nearby conversation.

“...much more manageable and even agreeable if you just let us do a wipe.”

“I don't want it done.” Nora’s voice, sounding cool. “I've become fond of this personality.”

“You could just tell us what parts you like, and we'll reset M7-97 properly. It will be much more useful to you then.”

Fear welled up in his chest.

“No.” Nora was firm, borderline angry, keeping herself in check. Danse could hear something beeping nearby, heard it speed up as the conversation went on. The voices stopped, something brushed his hand and then his forehead.

“Danse? Are you awake?”

Danse managed to pry his eyes open to a slit, made out worried grey eyes looking down at him. His throat burned. Something hard and plastic was in his mouth, filled his throat. He was suffocating, even as air rushed in and out, out of his control. Nora was squeezing his hand tightly, and someone was saying something, but his ears were roaring, drowning out words. His chest stopped moving, mechanical inflation and deflation halted. He felt like he was caught, suspended between moments.

“Breathe, Danse.” Nora sounded and looked like she was on the other end of a tunnel. “Just breathe.”

Danse floundered, body trying to remember the first step. Had they wiped his mind, making him forget something as simple as breathing? But he managed to pull a small breath in, then another. It was uncomfortable with the hard tube still in his mouth and throat, but he managed a few more before his body began flagging, exhaustion pulling him down. His eyes drifted shut. 

“His oxygen levels are crashing, I need to put him back on the ventilator.” The stranger’s voice said.

No. Danse wanted to leave. He wanted to go home, back to Sanctuary Hills with Nora, hold her close while laying in their bed. He didn't want his mind wiped, didn't want to forget. He managed to lift his arms, intending to pull the tube from his throat, but he was caught before he even started. The mechanical ventilation started again, the fog lifted momentarily from his brain, but something cool washed up his arm and everything faded away again.

 

He vaguely remembered waking a few times to breathe without help from the machine, one time coughing when told to, nearly gagging as the tube cleared his throat. Ice chips soothed the ache and burn in his mouth and throat before an oxygen mask was placed on his face and he fell back into nothing.

 

Danse felt better the next time he awoke, but had the feeling that he had been asleep for a long time. Someone was fussing over him, pulling something sticky from his chest and hand, carefully removing the IV and leads for a monitor he hadn't noticed until now.

“Danse, can you hear me?”

Nora. Danse pried his eyes open, sticky with sleep. She looked tired, dark circles under her eyes clashing with her clean face, hair, clothes.

He remembered. At least, he was pretty sure he remembered everything. Would he know if anything was missing? Would he realize if they had selectively wiped any memory?

Nora must have seen something on his face, because she caught his face in her hands, looking worried.

“Danse? What's wrong?”

“I… I was afraid… I heard you… them… mind wipe.” Danse’s mind was foggy, making it difficult to form whole sentences. Nora sat on the edge of the bed, helped him sit up, pulled him into a tight hug. He weakly wrapped an arm around her, hugging her back.

“Never.” She said fiercely. “I stayed with you the whole time. I'd never let them do that to you.”

He breathed her scent in, clean soap and pine.

“We need to go, though.” She whispered. “Can you walk?”

Danse took stock of himself. He wasn't sure, but he weakly nodded anyway. She helped him sit on the edge of the bed and she dressed him from her ever present pack, clean blue jeans and a flannel shirt that was only a little snug in the shoulders. He touched the bandage on his stomach, winced at the twinge. Either he was healing much slower than usual or he hadn't been asleep as long as he feared. Nora shouldered her pack and helped him put his boots on before getting him on his feet. He hoped he didn't look as wobbly as he felt, but she slid under his arm to let him lean on her.

Nora lead him out of the room, across an open area with honest-to-God live _trees_ growing. She didn't spare them a second look, keeping a close eye out for people instead. There weren't many people or synths about, making Danse suspect it was what passed for the middle of the night when you lived underground.

He was ushered into a glass cylinder, and he startled when they began to rise. The elevator seemed to rise for ages, stories speeding by faster than he could have imagined. They finally reached the top, and Danse staggered off, leaning heavily against the solid wall. Nora undid a few of the buttons on his shirt, quick as a flash, and he looked down to see red spots on the bandage on his gut. Maybe it wasn't just the speed of the elevator that had dizzied him.

“Just a bit further.” Nora let him lean against her again and they went on. Danse focused on putting one foot in front of the other, panting like they had run a marathon, holding the wound with one hand and hanging on to Nora with the other. True to her word, they soon reached a round room crammed with technology of the likes he had never seen before. Nora inspected the map on her Pip Boy, chewing her lip.

“I don't think they'll be able to track where we go, but I'm not sure…”

“Don't go straight home, just in case.” Danse was appalled at how weak his voice was. “I can walk.”

“Danse…”

“I'll be fine.” He stubbornly insisted. “Don't endanger anyone else for my sake.”

Nora sighed, went to punch something into the computer, and rejoined him in the round room just in time for the ground to fall away from under his feet for a split second. His feet hit the ground again, ears ringing, and his knees didn't give him any warning before they buckled. Nora caught his shoulders, just barely keeping him from bouncing his head off the broken pavement.

“Are you okay?” She asked after a moment, letting him get his breath back.

“That… is an awful method of transportation.” 

Nora barked out a laugh as she helped him to his feet. 

“You get used to it after a while.”

“I'd rather not.” Danse shuddered. He hoped he never returned to the Institute again. 

“Fair enough.” Nora said quietly, picking their way up the road. It was dark out, but he could see now that they were just on the edge of Concord, already heading up the hill towards the Red Rocket settlement just outside of Sanctuary.

“Why have you remained in contact with them?” Danse asked eventually, trying to keep his mind off of how much it hurt to be upright and walking. “The Institute. I thought…”

He trailed off. It didn't really matter what he thought. He has been vehemently for destroying the Institute, but that had been back when he was a Knight in the Brotherhood. Now he didn't know what to think. The Institute still made him uncomfortable, treating synths as tools, machines to be sent out and collect information and technology as needed, no matter the cost. He had agreed that they were just things, once upon a time. Now he wasn't sure, and it bothered him.

“I don't know.” Nora confessed, but continued slowly. “I guess… it's my last connection, you know? Making a decision about them, one way or the other, it feels so final. I don't agree with them, with Shaun, I hate what they've been doing. I hoped I could change it. But. The system is in place. Even if I take over like Shaun wants me to, they'll keep doing what they've always done.”

Danse stumbled, nearly taking them both down, managed to recover. She looked at him in concern, but he waved it off and motioned for her to continue.

“I've been on the fence. I know what needs to be done, I just…” She stared off into the distance, not really seeming to see anything. “He's my son. He's all that's left of Nate. But I snooped around and learned more about them while we were in there. I have to pick a side, now.”

Danse tightened his grip on her shoulder. He was a fool. He had known about her past, why she was here, but had gotten so caught up in his own problems. Nora always seemed so strong, so sure of what she was doing; he had forgotten that she was only human, caught outside of her own time.

“I'm sorry.” Danse frowned, mentally kicking himself. “I haven't been-”

Thundering paws and a vicious snarl was all the warning they got before they were both bowled over by heavy bodies. Danse twisted as he fell, trying to shove the mongrel off, trying to stay clear of snapping jaws. He hit the ground hard enough to knock the wind from him, but he managed to hold the growling beast off.

Nora had somehow rolled to her feet, and two sharp cracks from her pistol sent the mongrels sprawling, dead before they hit the ground.

“Danse!” Nora gasped. “Are you okay?”

“Yes-” Danse tried to rise but stopped with a gasp, clutching at the wound in his gut. The pain was burning cold, startling in its intensity. She pushed his shirt open again, checking the bandage. It was soaked with crimson, blood leaking from beneath it. Nora pulled more cloth from her pack for bandages, ever prepared. Danse flinched, wheezing as she put pressure on it. It wasn’t as bad as when he first got shot, but more blood loss was not doing him any favours. He felt lightheaded.

“Just stay still. It's not too bad, but you tore open again.” Nora fretted. “I'm so sorry, Danse, I shouldn't have been dragging you across the countryside like this.”

Danse squeezed her arm in response, not trusting his voice. He was starting to shake, body sliding into shock. Nora checked his pulse and cursed, grabbing him and hauling him into a sitting position, holding him close. 

“Sheffield!” She yelled over his head. “I need some help down here!”

Time kept starting and stopping in bursts, leaving Danse feeling horribly lost.

“Wow, he doesn't look so good.” A familiar voice expressed concern.

“Yes, thank you, Preston; I hadn't noticed.” Nora snapped. “We need to get him back to Sanctuary!”

“Easy, no need to be snippy, I'm here to help.” Preston Garvey smoothed over.

“I- I know. I'm sorry.” Nora huffed a sigh. “I'm just worried.”

Danse lost time, felt himself being lifted with a hard board under his back.

“Holy sh-crap.” MacCready wheezed somewhere close. “Did he eat his power armour?!”

Time leapt ahead again, this time to Curie shining a light in his eyes and then injecting him with something. 

“I'll need to keep him here to keep an eye on him for now.” She announced. “You should get some rest, chéri. You look exhausted.”

“Don't worry, human. You could always attempt to build yourself a new companion. It may even only take a few miserable failures before having some sort of success.”

“Jezebel! Shut the fuck up!” Nora yelled. “And get the hell out of here!”

Danse heard her stomp across the floor before a door slammed.

“Why is she even here still?! I thought she was going to go conquer the world or something?” Nora raved.

“You didn't give her arms or legs. She's a floating torso that happens to also have a head.” Cait reminded her. “What's she going to do, talk everyone to death?”

“Please, do not shout!” Curie was wringing her hands. Danse vaguely wondered when he had opened his eyes. “You've awoken our patient.”

“Danse?”

She took his hand, but he could barely make out her face above him. A blissfully cool hand passed over his forehead and Danse slept.

***

Danse awoke with a start, blinking groggily in the dim lighting. He immediately recognized Curie’s first aid and research lab, which helped him relax a bit, but he realized he had no memory of how he got there.

“You awake?” Piper’s voice broke through the fog in his head. Danse turned his head on the pillow to see her sitting on the tattered couch nearby, one of Nora’s Wasteland Survival comics in hand. “Actually awake, or are you gonna throw another fit?”

“What?” Danse’s throat was parched, making his voice crack.

“Good enough.” Piper rolled to her feet and grabbed a drinking glass, half full of purified water, and offered it to him. He managed to push himself up enough to gratefully accept it and downed it as Cait stepped through the door. 

“Should I go get the egghead?” Cait stopped in the middle of the room, arms folded and looking like she wanted to be anywhere but there.

“Egg…?” Danse couldn't figure out what she meant, still feeling foggy. It took him a moment to recall hearing Cait calling Curie ‘egghead’. He wasn't sure if it was meant to be an insult or term of endearment. “No, I'm fine.”

“Good, because I have no bloody clue where she went.” Cait looked relieved. 

“Whoa, where do you think you're going?” Piper tried to stop him from swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, but he was determined. 

“If I'm going to get my strength back, I need to get moving.” Danse managed to get to his feet, and was dismayed by how weak and shaky he felt.

“Look, Mister Power Armour, you were gut shot a week ago, I think you can afford a few more days in bed.”

“A week?” Danse touched his bandages, feeling lost. How had he lost an entire week? He needed to find Nora. 

“Well, yeah, you guys were gone for most of it. We dragged you in here night before last.” Piper still had her hands up like she was trying to calm a yao guai but seemed reluctant to actually physically prevent him from leaving. “I really think you ought to lay down and get some rest.”

“Where is Nora?”

“Blue has been here pretty much the whole time, we just convinced her a couple hours ago to go get some proper sleep in her bed.” Piper relaxed a bit when he didn't make an immediate move for the door. “You should get some more sleep too, I bet she'll be back the next time you wake up.”

Danse considered it for a moment, eyeing the cot he had been laying on, but headed for the door instead. Piper leapt into his path, but he just stepped around her.

“Come on, Danse! Blue’s gonna have my head!” Piper wailed.

“Ach, let him go, Piper.” Cait surprisingly came to his defence. “We’ll make sure he doesn't do a faceplant on the way over.”

“She needs sleep too!”

“And what do you think she'll do the second she wakes up next?” Cait threw her arms out. “She'll be right back here. Putting him to bed there will just keep them both there longer.”

When Cait put it like that, the idea sounded even more inviting than it already had. Danse continued his slow journey, limping a bit as he kept a hand over the wound. He wasn’t feeling too bad at the moment, and hoped the feeling would stick around until he got to the wooden building that Nora called their home. Piper made an exasperated noise behind him but didn't argue any further, and both Cait and her followed him up and across the twilit street until he got through the door of the shack.

“Just get some rest, Danse!” Piper ordered. “And let her sleep!”

Danse just waved without turning and shut the door behind him. It was mostly dark inside, the sun mostly down by now, the room dimly lit only by an oil lantern that glowed on the table by the door. Nora was normally more prudent with their precious supply of oil, so she must have been exceptionally exhausted to forget to snuff it when she came in.

Danse carried it closer to their bed and saw that she was curled up under the covers, motionless, obviously not having heard him enter. He snuffed the lantern and climbed into bed under the covers, holding her close when she sleepily reached for him. She'd have some choice words for him once she properly awoke and realized he had made his way there, but he already felt more comfortable being in a familiar bed. He studied her sleeping face in the dim light, eyes tracing over the memorized lines as he thought about everything that they needed to talk about once morning came. The list seemed overwhelming, but Danse let his eyes close as sleep came over him.

Whatever came, together they would be ready for it.


End file.
